The Symphony Orchestra and the Flight of Angels
by aperfectsong
Summary: Prompt: "I think the greatest harm done the human race has been done by the poets. They keep filling people's heads with delusions about love... writing about it as if it were a symphony orchestra or a flight of angels." / Barney meets Nora for coffee, but B/R


**Prompt**: "I think the greatest harm done the human race has been done by the poets. They keep filling people's heads with delusions about love... writing about it as if it were a symphony orchestra or a flight of angels." – Spellbound.

_The Symphony Orchestra and the Flight of Angels_

It's the second week of September when Barney takes a taxi to meet Nora for coffee. He spends the entire ride planning what to say. He plans an apology, plans to be honest, plans to ask for another chance. But when he reaches the door to that coffee shop, all of his carefully planned words slip away. He should have brought flowers or something.

He stands, transfixed.

Nora, in all her beauty, Nora sitting in a chair by the window, Nora with her legs crossed. Again, she is wearing a sundress, but this time, her legs are covered in a thin layer of goose bumps, the last traces of a summer tan still fading from her skin. She must know it's too late for sundresses; Barney wonders briefly if she's proving a point.

She has a book open on the table in front of her. He can't see what it is, but sees the way she is crouched over it, sees her eyes flittering from one line to the next.

What can a guy like him say to a girl like Nora to win her back? How can a guy like him ever do right by a girl like her? He hesitates at the door, unsure if he should even bother.

But somehow, he feels standing her up would be worse. So he pulls the door open and a little bell rings, causing Nora look up and close her book.

"Hello," he says. He walks toward her with his usual swagger, betraying something, maybe.

"Good afternoon, Barney. How have you been?"

"Good," he says, sitting down across from her. "Fine. _Awesome_. How have _you_ been?"

"Fine. Just busy with work. World Wide News has really been running us down with stories about the election. It's months away still. I don't see why we have to get into it so early."

"Primaries?" Barney says.

"I know. Maybe I'm just sick of American politics. And American politicians. I'd rather be working on something less depressing, you know? Instead of digging up dirt on candidates and ruining their political careers."

Barney just nods and looks around the shop. One of the baristas comes over to their table and sets a drink in front of Nora.

"Thank you," she tells the woman.

You already ordered?" Barney says. "I would have—"

"I know," Nora says as she removes the lid, letting loose a long wisp of steam. She sets the lid down on the table. "I agreed to have coffee with you, and to the explanation you still owe me for how it ended between us, but that's all I agreed to. I like you Barney. I think somewhere deep down you're a good person, but…"

"I ruined it," he finishes.

She looks him in the eyes and says, "You ruined it on purpose. You lied to me. And I think I deserve to know why before deciding if this can become more than just coffee."

"I don't know why I did it."

He does, of course, know. But there is no way he can imagine a situation in which he would open his mouth and say it. At least, not without at least three scotches downed first. Barney drums his fingers on the edge of the table, avoiding Nora's eyes. He is wondering how Ted ever did this. This must be how it always is, apologizing, getting down to all those little truths that he doesn't know how to let out anymore, to the raw and bare feeling he's worked so hard all his life to cover up.

"Well I do," Nora says. Before he can interject or anything, she continues, "Robin told me about your college girlfriend. And she told me about having dated you two years ago. You're afraid of commitment."

"What? She told you that? When?"

"After we broke up," Nora says matter-of-factly.

Barney says nothing in response, but watches Nora as she gathers her hair into her hand and leans over to blow into her steaming coffee, sending the surface into ripples. Then she sticks her pinky finger into the cup and brings it to her mouth. Finally, she picks up the cup and takes a short, timid sip.

And it occurs to Barney that these habits are things he would have remembered and loved her for, had he been a different man. The thought shivers through him, but doesn't leave.

Nora sets her drink down and blows on it again. "I called Robin later that night and she came over. We mixed beer and ice cream and ate it out of the carton." She laughs. "I know it sounds disgusting, but it really helped. I guess it also helped when she told me you were lying about only wanting to sleep with me."

"She said that?"

"Yes."

"Look, Nora. I'm sorry for lying to you. If there's anything I can do to make it up to you…"

"You promised I could call you every name in the book."

He smiles. "Go for it. I've got all afternoon."

So she does. "You're a liar. Jerk. Asshole. Bloody git. Pillock. Berk. Prat. Menteur. Connarde. Va te faire enculer. Vous êtes une pomme de terre avec le visage d'un cochon d'inde ! Yaram. Khmbo. Toon vor es. Du bist ein dorftrottel..."

She continues for a few more minutes, Barney lost in a mess of words he doesn't understand. He just leans back in his chair and takes it.

When Nora finishes, she smiles. "I feel better now."

"That's good."

"I'm sorry," she says.

"For what? I didn't even understand what most of that meant."

She takes a sip of her coffee. "No, not for that. You deserved it. But for what happened between us."

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"Let me finish, Barney. I'm sorry I wasn't someone you could be honest with. And I'm sorry that I scared you off. I know it's strange to tell someone exactly what I want out of a relationship, but I'm tired of wasting my time. I want to get this part of my life over with. I know it wasn't fair of me to put that kind of pressure on you. But you weren't honest with me at all, so how could I have known?"

"I don't know," he says, adjusting his tie. "It's my fault. I'm sorry for being such a jerk. You were good to me and I screwed it all up because I didn't know what else to do."

And she comforts him, in that quiet, forgiving voice of hers. She covers his hand with hers on the table. She rubs his knuckles with her thumb.

And he thinks of the time she took care of him when he was sick, how he wouldn't think to do that for anyone, not anymore.

For the longest time, he associated all of that lovey, hand-holdingy stuff with Shannon:

Lying in the grass watching sunsets and meteor showers; talking all night about growing up without a father, leaving home for college; sharing food and t-shirts and toothbrushes and secrets, like how Shannon's first boyfriend used to hit her and what Barney's mother really did for a living; planning their big escape to Nicaragua, planning to be together for years, forever. He remembers those nights Shannon lay beside him in a twin bed, how she would snore but only slightly, how that musical sound of her breathing would lull him to sleep. He remembers arguments that would end with both of them in tears, holding each other, like their mutual pain could tear down any wall between them. And he remembers mornings where he would wake with her in his arms and think that with their love for each other, they could accomplish anything.

He sees a lot of that in Nora. Maybe that was why he was drawn to her in the first place. Nostalgia. Not love yet, not exactly. But a kind of love.

She might give him another chance.

They might be happy together for a time. They might walk through Central Park before winter starts. They might play in the snow and come in for hot chocolate and marshmallows. They might, one day, love each other, get married, and have three ridiculously good-looking children. They might, one day, have picnics and barbeques and Christmas parties and wine and cheese tastings.

He looks at her. She really is beautiful.

But as he's sitting with her, this perfect girl with the perfect smile who plays violin and speaks four languages and makes amazing chicken noodle soup, he realizes he can't do this to her. He can't see himself with her in an English garden having tea. Or by a fireplace with a patchwork quilt and a Jane Austen novel. He's too far gone for all that. Too ruined. He can't be who she really wants.

It's beautiful, poetic even, the way they spoke in the restaurant, planning their future life together a series of romantic images, in sunrises and metaphors and blue skies and hallelujahs.

But Barney knows, deep down, she deserves to be with someone who means it.


End file.
